


The Rogue in Purple

by JoAsakura



Series: The Rogue In Purple [1]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2204769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the true adventures of the Stilwater Saint in the style of the novels of one Pierce Washington, ESQ</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Job Gone Bad

"I must say, this is quite the honour." The actor said as his horse pranced nervously in the twilight. "To be able to study with you all prior to my debut in the Saints play..."

"Joshua, please stop talking." Sister Shaundi rolled her eyes as she adjusted her costume. "You croak over and over like a toad and it puts me in an ill mood."

"I must wonder about these masks, though." Joshua Birk, rising star of the stage and notorious rake, said as he fitted the beaked contraption to his face. "Is it a commentary on the plague of the rising middle class and la revolution industrielle?" He rolled those last R's and gave Shaundi a significant look.

"Please, may I kill him?" She batted her eyes at Johnny Gat, voice pitching up to it's most coquettish.

The former pirate was about to answer when a rough voice broke from the gloom. "Now, Sister. We need him." Adam handed the reins of his black horse to Johnny with a twinkle in his eye, and doffed his three-cornered hat. "Master Birk, I expect you to remain in the background and provide us with a menacing presence. Can you do that?"

"I am a thespian, good sir. Of course." Birk sniffed, firmly fitting his own hat over mask.

"Fantastic. The information that both Troy and Pierce heard rumblings on says we should be seeing a coach from Steeleport coming up. It should be quick and easy, so be light on your feet, my friends." Adam fastened his own mask in place. "I hear the clatter of wheels. Mind your places. We have very little time before Troy will need to dispatch his men, and I want us away by then." He added, before vanishing back into the shadows.

~~

The coach - richly appointed in red lacquer and gilt - careened to a halt at the sight of the woman lying helpless in the road. "Please good sir..." the old woman said, voice quavering as she tried to stand. "please, i was done evil to by footpads.."

"We have no time for you, beggar." The coachman said with a haughty sniff. "Stand aside."

"Well, that's just rude." The masked man on a great brown horse said, riding out from the forest. "instead of the lady standing aside, how about you instead stand and deliver your wealth?" Johnny rested his rifle on the saddle, making a show of the gleaming barrel. 

"GIVE UP YER COINS YOU WEAKLINGS!" Josh suddenly roared, firing a shot overhead into the trees.

Shaundi and Gat both smacked themselves in the faces in frustration as the horses danced irritably. "God damn you, Birk, shut up!" She shouted, but in the brief moment of chaos, they didn't hear the grind of gears.

"Watch yourselves!" Adam dropped from the trees as a quite huge pepperbox repeater rose from the coach, greatcoat snapping around him like massive wings. "BLOODY FUCKING HELL." He roared as the coachman dove at him and the huge conveyance opened up to belch out a swarm of guards. The gun's retort was loud even over the shouts as it sprayed shot at the Saints.

Johnny picked off the gunner with his rifle, as Adam pulled the long knives from his boots, dispatching the coachman even as two more descended on him. "Sister! Birk! The carriage!" He shouted, and Shaundi scrambled past him to the open coach.

"This is far more violent than I expected! I'll go get reinforcements from the Sherriff!" The actor shouted, wheeling his horse around. 

"BIRK!" Johnny roared, butting a guard in the face with his gun as he leapt from the horse. "He's fled, Adam!"

"Let him go.." Adam grunted, headbutting a guard as he broke the knee of the man holding him from behind. "He'll be fine, but we must be awa.."

His words were cut off by the thunder of hooves as the Sheriffs men descended upon the scene. "You're early!" He said to the captain, white horse steaming in the autumn chill. Behind him, Shaundi clutched a valise to her chest and Johnny's fingers tightened on his gun.

He wasn't sure what was off, the officers' demeanour, their uniforms, but he realised too late as the first boot contacted with his head, that while they might have been officers of Stilwater, they were not Troy's men at all. 

~~

Consciousness was an awkward, lumbering thing that swayed and rocked and smelled like sweaty flesh. He was bound, cold and damp and everything tasted like blood.

"ah." Adam said after a moment, eyes blinking open to confirm the flesh his face was pressed against. "Johnny, my dear fellow, I seem to have passed out against your particular baubles." He slurred, trying unsuccessfully to sit up, before flopping face down again into Gat's naked lap. "So sorry."

There was a low groan, and Gat shifted. "Strangely enough, this time I actually believe you." He rasped. "I'm going to gut that bacon-faced fool when I find him. Sister Shaundi, are you well?"

"Fine." She said from where she was chained. "They left me the dignity of a shift and spared me a beating, although i was forced to suffer watching them do you both."

"Ah, never fear, both of us are right abram coves." Adam laughed hoarsely and dragged himself up Gat's chest and leaned against the other man's shoulder. " Hell of a basting, though, the room keeps moving."

"That's not the beating." Shaundi sighed. "We're on a boat."

"Bloody hell."


	2. Into The Fire

He had gotten out of more dire straits, Adam thought, even if he was hard-pressed to remember what they were. 

"Right, then." He started, twisting his wrists in the manacles. "If I unjoint my thumbs, I can slip out of these, I think."

"Ugh, I hate it when you do that." Johnny groaned as Shaundi made a disgusted face. "But that sound is better than being stuck here."

The door to their cell grated and clanked, and the three froze at the sight at the of the two ladies before them, and the entourage of armed men and women behind them. They were identical, rosy-pale and raven curls caught with golden filets. In contrast to their prisoners and the squalid room, their diaphanous gowns and fine gloves in palest blossom pink net over a darker silk, and their neat, short jackets in dark slate with turkey-red trim, were almost ridiculous. "So sorry for the rude accommodations." One said. "But we had to ensure your meekness in this matter." The other finished her sentence.

Adam stood and straightened himself as best the chains would allow, the women utterly unmoved by his nudity. "I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding ladies." He said, sensing Gat and Sister Shaundi tensing behind him. "If you would allow me to explain..."

The men and women behind them parted, and Adam looked at their garb as they did. All cut fine figures in sharp tailcoats and well-fitted breeches. Ivory breeches and high-collared pale blossom cravats. Darkest slate coats, with a flash of claret silk at the lining. Guns. Swords. Well-paid, well-armed and dull-witted if the eyes of everyone but the two young women were any indication. His least-favourite sort to deal with.

"No, let me explain, Monsieur Smith." A man, smallish and older but clearly fit, stepped through as his soldiers made way for him. He wore the same colours as his subordinates, but the suit was of the very finest fabrics, and he tapped out his pipe with a snort. 

"Great, a fucking frenchman." Johnny spat. 

"Belgian. But that's immaterial. My name is Phillipe Loren. I head an.. organisation, a brotherhood you might say, called the Syndicate." He said languidly, taking a long draw on the pipe.

"I don't believe we've ever heard of you." Shaundi glared from the coarse shift they'd left her in.

"Apparently not or you would not have tried to rob my men." The belgian snorted. "Stilwater has many growing factories I could make use of. I care little who wins the wars our countries fight, but there's money to be made in prolonging it at arming it. And your little stunt caused a stutter in my expansion plans."

"So terribly fucking sorry." Adam scowled, slowly twisting his thumb in the manacles.  
"Not as sorry as you could be." One of the women said.

"True. These visions are my assistants, Kiki and Viola DeWynter." Loren gestured to them. "Apologies, my dear. Please continue."

"In exchange for your men's allegiance and assist in control of Stilwater, as well as 66% of all profits on those ridiculous souvenirs and..." She paused and looked at a small sheaf of notes. "er... Doctor Washington's Patented Saintly Blood Invigorating Tonic..." She looked back at Adam and the others with a faintly disgusted look. "...you three and your associates get to retain your horrid little lives."

"Otherwise..." Loren drew close to Adam, vulture's eyes looking him over with cold intent as he drew a knife from his coat. "The stories do not do you and your companions justice. You're all surprisingly lovely for a group of wretched brigands. Your eyes are the purest pomona green, my dear Monsieur Smith." He gently brushed the knife along Adam's cheek, smiling when the Saint didn't flinch. "I will enjoy preserving them in a jar and watching them catch the light in my study at Morningstar."

"Fuck you." Adam said.

"I will perhaps fuck you instead, when you're dead." Loren sneered.

Before he could break his hand to free himself, though, there came a roar behind him with the splintering of wood. Johnny tore his bonds free from the wall, chain arcing pas Adam to slam the older man in the face. "GET DOWN!" 

Adam gritted his teeth as he worked himself free, one chain hanging from his good hand as he quickly moved to use Loren's fallen knife to free Shaundi, his other hand hanging useless until he could force it back into position. "We have to go!"

In the chaos, the deWynter sisters had gathered up their employer and fled while the cell flooded with their soldiers - none of whom had ever been prepared for the wrath of the Bloody Johnny Gat, even as a bullet tore through his shoulder. Shaundi pushed them back with the guns she plucked from the floor as Adam hastily freed his friend. "We need to find our way above deck and off this ship."

"We could be out to sea!" Shaundi picked up another gun as Johnny swung his chains with a nasty smile.

"Girl, you forget where I hail from." He clubbed an onrushing soldier in the face with the manacles. "The sea was my home for years. I can get us out of this. Now abovedeck quick as you please."

They rushed upwards, only to find the deck swarming, not only with more men, but what at first appeared to be great cannons. "Oh, fuck me." Johnny said, grabbing his friends and dragging them to safety as the first volley of flaming glop released and hurtled towards them.

"What the bloody fucking hell is that?" Adam threw himself over Shaundi as the deck exploded into flame.  
"Greek fire. I'd heard some had found ancient texts on how to make it but I didn't think..." Johnny started then shook his head, dark eyes narrowing. "One uses it on other ships. If they're willing to use it here, then this is a fight we can't win. They will sink this ship and us on it."

"What can we do?" Shaundi cried over the din as they cowered behind some crates, the fire throwers reloading. "I've only got one shot and Adam's hand's bad.."

"Get him to the lifeboats. I can disable the throwers and get this barque to ground." Johnny peered over the top of the crates. "There's only a dozen or so heavily armed men. No problem."

"I'm not leaving you." Adam growled, trying to force his hand back into position.

Suddenly, Johnny cupped his face with a startling gentleness. "You are my dearest companion. But you are our leader, and our people need you. Shaundi will take you and I will find you my brother, my captain." He very gently touched his forehead to Adam's then took Shaundi's pistol. "NOW GO."

They had barely scrabbled to the lifeboats when Adam knew something had gone terribly wrong. "SHAUNDI GET DOWN!" He shouted, holding her close as the ship erupted into a violent fireball.

For a moment, there was nothing but fire and light, but in the very next, the cold, dark of the ocean swallowed them both.


	3. A Fine Kettle of Fish

Shaundi woke with a start, cold and reeking of horse. Her head ached, and gingerly she sat up.

"I see we're trolls now." She tried at a bit of humour, clutching the coarse, stinking blanket to her. They were nestled under a bridge on a rough jetty, a small fire flickering. 

"Careful, you've a lump on your head like a walnut." Adam said, stepping from the scrubby pines that hid them. Shaundi scowled at the clothes he now wore, not unlike their captors. "I come bearing gifts." He added with a levity he clearly didn't feel. "Some new garments for milady, some bread, and a pint of briny whelks." He set everything down, then sat in an ungraceful lump beside them. "It seems this place is lousy with Loren's hands. They won't be missing their purses or their clothes, and it will be a long time before anyone misses them."

Shaundi held up the garments. "We're in Steeleport, aren't we." She asked, shimmying into trousers built for another's size.

"It would seem from the banner on the newspapers." Adam cocked his head as he chewed on a whelk. "How did you know?"

"While they were beating you and.." She paused. "I heard them discuss how they couldn't wait to return here." With a scowl, Shaundi shoved her foot into a boot. "Do you think Johnny will find us? After all, we survived, and ..."

"Shaundi." Adam moved closer to her, closing his hands over where hers ha stilled on the tall boots. "In the chaos, i think i saw Loren and his handmaidens escape, but Johnny.. he was.."

"He's not so fragile, our Mister Gat." She sniffed back unshed tears and finished shoving on the boot. "If that belgian bastard could escape, so could he."

"Well." Adam sat back, shoulders straining at the dark slate wool of his coat. "Eat up, then we can assess our situation. I suspect that it won't be long before a bounty's on our heads."

"I have an associate here from when I was last in this terrible place. He can supply us with weapons." Shaundi said, rising to her feet, unable to button her coat over her bosom. "Then we can put a bullet in Loren's head."

~~

They made their way across Steeleport with caution, the air crisp with the promise of an early snowfall. The colours they wore had the effect of people giving way to them on the sidewalks, and Adam noticed, as they crossed bridges and canals and wound their way through the narrow alleys, that the streetlamps were festooned with banners. Turkey red and slate in one place, corbeau-green with a carmine touch in another, and as they approached Shaundi's contact, the banners hung celestial blue and silver.

They passed several parks and fine homes, and many more warrens, some ancient and some new, layered on top of each other as factories clanked and belched all around.

"Were these here the last time you were?" Adam hunched down in his coat, breath steaming in the cold as he helped her over some filth.

"No. Much has changed, but I am surprised someone like Loren shares his city." She shook her head. "Here - Aurelio has the attic of this building." Shaundi said, pushing open the door. It went from freezing to suffocatingly warm in the closeness of the building, once again growing cold as they carefully picked their way through the narrow staircase. 

"My dearest Shaundi, you didn't write to tell me of your arrival.." Aurelio started, wiping paint from his brown cheek before freezing. "You've suffered a great indignity, haven't you? Come in, come in!" He bustled them in, hand lingering in the small of Adam's back.

"And you must be Mister Smith." He said with a sly grin. "She's written much of you in our correspondence. I see now, it hardly does you justice." His smock was stained with more paint, and his breeches were worn, but he cut a romantic figure in the candlelight.

"She keeps her contacts close to her breast." Adam replied, smiling a bit at the handsome man's attention. "But It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister..?"

"Only Aurelio. I find no need for the encumbrance of family." He sniffed, setting a kettle on his small hearth and moving around a number of canvases. "Now, tell me all about this stew of trouble you've found yourselves in as you warm up."

~~

When Shaundi finished her tale, the artist sat back. "So you need weapons and a place to stay," He said after a long ponder. "I can be of some assistance there, my dear."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can kill anyone with a paintbrush." Adam twirled one between his fingers. "Athough I know some pigments are..."

"I appreciate anything that is both beautiful and... functional." Aurelio sniffed, snatching away the brush. "Shaundi has told me you're a knife man." He added after lugging out a small chest. "Will these do?"

The damascened blades were curved and the ornate hilts placed their origins at someplace very far away from the squalor of Steeleport. Adam smiled, sighting down the razored edge and nodded as Shaundi examined a small pistol with delicate engravings on the barrel. "A most excellent start."

"Between these and what we took from Loren's men, we can..." Shaundi started but Adam cut her off.

"You will take what coin we have and hire a coach back to Stilwater with all haste." He said, tucking the sheathes in his stolen boots. "Troy needs to know that the constabulary is being bought by this jackal and you need to tell Pierce to come here and bring me my hunting gear."

"You would have me sit and rot in Stilwater while you go after Loren? We have guns now and...!" She shouted. "We don't have time.. not.."

"And I will determine this city's weaknesses and I will find a way to take it away from our enemy." Adam's voice dropped low, a growl rising in his chest. "I will not make so light of Johnny's life that I throw away yours or mine."

"Then I will go to Stilwater." She said snatching up the purse. "And deliver your messages. But you're sorely mistaken if you think I won't return with Pierce." Shaundi turned on her heel. "I will see justice for Gat."

The door slammed behind her and Adam rubbed his face. "I've learned when to not push her further." He said with a small laugh, then paused, watching the artist begin to pack up his things. "..Aurelio?"

"I am familiar with your exploits from my correspondence with Shaundi. I have no doubt this will all become terribly violent, and I have a lovely widow in the country who's been begging me to come and alleviate her boredom." He said pleasantly. "Although, when this is over, you must let me paint you."

"It would be my pleasure." Adam sketched a jaunty bow. "Are you certain I can not offfer you my thanks now for services so far rendered?"

Aurelio paused, then set his valise down with a quirk of one heavy brow. "I can wait for tomorrow to ride out, I suppose."

Adam's grin curled like a cat's. "I promise to make it entirely worth your while."


	4. The Lady's Cackletub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adam threatens to eat a child.

The snow had drifted thick and filthy across the sidewalks and the sky was a patchwork of white and grey and sooty black belching from the factories. Adam hunched down into Aurelio's second-best coat and pushed his way through the pedestrians slogging their way through.

It would be several days, if not more given the weather, before Shaundi could return with Pierce, but he couldn't bear to cool his heels hiding in the chilly garrett while Loren and his followers roamed free. So he followed the twisting maze of Steeleport's streets, noting the men and women in their smart uniforms, and how blue and silver became green and rose as he crossed one of many bridges that joined the crowded islands.

He bought a small pie from a stand, warming his hands with it as he leaned over the bridge, watching the turgid water drift beneath.

The brush against his coat was so faint as to almost be unnoticeable, but he caught the skinny arm of his would-be pickpocket and hoisted the child up with a narrow glare, retrieving the purse with his free hand. "Not quite good enough, child." He grumbled, setting the urchin back down.

"Y'wuz mean'ta notice, if y'wuz who her Ladyship sez ya were." The child rubbed a filthy mitten under a filthier nose. "Lady Kensington wants ta see ya, said ya might wanna see this." They added, shoving a wadded up piece of paper towards him.

Scowling, Adam smoothed it, leaning against the bridge's railing with the urchin as the foot traffic passed by. "That... is a dreadful likeness." He said after moment, holding the wanted poster at arms length. "But that is also a great deal of money on my.. on this fellow's head."

"Lady Kensington wants ya t' know she can help you if you c'n help her, she ain't got no love for Mister Loren. Go here." They tapped on an address written in a scrawling, illegible hand at the bottom. "An' she said y'd give me a penny for my troubles."

Adam knelt down, looking the child dead in the eye. "Take it" He said, pressing a coin into the mittened hand. "But I have your scent, little beggar. If this is a trap, i'll find you and EAT YOU WHOLE." 

He tacked the barest of growls at the end of the sentence, and the urchin ran away with a screech, only to pause several feet away. "YEAH FUCK YOU TOO!" They shouted, glaring as Adam's shoulders shook with laughter.

"Well, then, Lady Kensington." He said out loud, prancing around the words. "Let's see who you are."

~~

He had expected a fine townhome. Maybe a small manor on the edge of a greensward.

He had not expected a wretched, half-built factory with windows glaring down dark and empty, onto the barren streets surrounding it. The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he tugged his hat down, one hand absently brushing down the coat to feel the shape of his gun.

The metal-bound door opened with a dire groan, and he took the gun in hand, carefully stepping inside, breath puffing in the cold.

The floor creaked, and he spun, pistol cocked, to find himself face to ... top of the head... with another dirty child. "Lady Kensington's been waitin' fer ya." They said. "Upstairs."

"Does she have a child army or something?" He let the gun drop, but didn't put it away. 

"Ain't no place in Steelport we can't ferret inta." The child said proudly. "We gather information like some fancy maid picks flowers."

"Huh." Adam nodded. "I hope she's paying you for that. I could've shot you."

"Not too bad." The urchin shrugged, wandering away. "Food an' drink an' a warm bed and a penny now again. Best deal i got."

"Fair enough, then." Adam turned, stepping up the rickety stairs. "...Lady Kensington? Your... secretary down below said you would expect me."

"If you're trying to lay low, you're doing a horrendous job of it." A woman croaked from across the room. Her hair was a gorgon's nest of red, sticking out from a cap in every direction as she scribbled furiously near a fire. Members of her network darted in and out, bringing sheafs of paper, and taking new ones. "You killed two of Loren's people before you'd been here an hour. They're still looking for them you know."

"I needed boots, and the bodies are sunk deep in the cold, cold water, Milady." Adam doffed his hat. "The currents have long taken them out to sea. How did you know?"

"I see everything in this city." She sniffed. "Just like I saw that bounty Loren has on your pretty head." She paused in her scribbling, peering at him over the tops of her glasses. 

"And you're not going to turn me in for it?" He looked around, half-expecting to find a cadre of something more than dirty children waiting for him.

"You want Loren's influence out of Stilwater, I want his influence out of Steeleport. His little toady, the Miller, drove me from my home to this.. this place. Ruined my reputation."

"So, what deal do you want to make, Lady Kensington?" Adam strode over to her side. 

"I supply you with all the information you need to make a new name here, the names of people you may find useful. And in return, you do what you did during the War of Many Colours in Stilwater. Deal?" She sat back, primly tugging a shawl about her shoulders. "You destroy them, we both go home happy."

He sketched a little bow. "I think, Milady, we have got ourselves a deal."

"Good." She handed him a folded note. "Then here's where you start. I've had my eyes on him for some time. Broken, but I see a great deal of potential. And you have ... a way with people. You might get him to come 'round."

Adam frowned at more of her illegible scrawl. "Angel... de la Muerte? Sounds ghastly."

Kensington sat back. "We have a deal, Mister Smith."

"Fine. I'll find your man. But i've got no patience for some bad bargain." Adam stuffed his hat back on. "He'd best be worth my while." But she was already not listening to him, and he threw up his hands. "Angel de la Muerte indeed. Bah."


	5. Catching Harvest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adam gets shot, and a new acquaintance is made.

It was well dark by the time he'd found his way across Steeleport to the address Lady Kensington had given him.

It looked to have been a church once - its confection of stained glass and gothic stonework now so many shattered windows and crumbled plaster. Gargoyles leered down, crowned with dirty snow in the dim moonlight. 

Adam paused, tugging Aurelio's coat tighter to him. There was an unnatural silence to the whole scene. No carriages, no music from the inn he'd passed just a few blocks before. He knew this silence, when unspoken message carried from home to home, lights extinguished and doors shut tight at the threat of impending violence.

He heard the shot moments before the round ploughed through his shoulder, burning hot in the frigid night, and spun, snow kicking up around him as he put a bullet through the shooter's eye with terrifying accuracy. He cursed Lady Kensington and himself, shoving the gun back in his belt - either this was a trap he graciously obliged her by attending or her information network was not quite as good as she suspected.

Either way, he was in trouble. 

He knew the rumours about him: a fae's changeling or demon-born. He couldn't speak to the truth of either, but his cats-eyes were not simply for show. In the dark, he had the advantage, seeing clearly where normal men could not, but this was their home ground, and Adam didn't know where any safety might be found.

As he took flight towards the church, one burly fellow in darkest green, small flashes of carmine pink at the trims, tackled him, grinding his face into the dirty snow with a coarse laugh. Adam twisted in his grasp, pulling the knife from one of his boots and slicing the back of the man's knee. He let go with a scream and Adam rolled to his feet, hair blowing free as his hat tumbled away in the freshening sea winds. 

There were at least twenty - all of impressive size, but one strode through their assembly, enormous and bald, with eyes as cold as the thin moonlight above. "I kill you now." He said in a thickly-accented rumble.

"Oh, fuck me." Adam said, just as the air behind him was split with the roar of a carbine rifle.

His ears rang, but the shot was not for him. The giant staggered back, red seeping across the straining white cotton of his shirt. "KILL THEM!"

"Curse you for coming here and bringing them!" Adam's saviour shouted at him, smashing the butt of the gun in one villian's face. "And curse me for not letting you die out here, stranger!"

Adam stabbed one man in the neck, turning to kick another in the chest, sending him staggering back. "Well thank you." He said with only the smallest bit of sarcasm. "Is that a sword at your hip?" He asked moments before helping himself to it, dancing around the other man, his twirl ending with a fatal blow to an attacker at their backs.

"Yes." The man sighed, clubbing one with his rifle before punching another hard enough that Adam saw teeth and blood spray out as his head snapped back. 

His companion was not much bigger, than he himself was, Adam noted. A deep hood on his tattered coat hid all but an unkempt sliver of brown jawline and a pair of lips pulled in a grim set. Adam spent a moment too long admiring the handsome curve of them, long enough to find the bald giant in his own face, fist connecting hard enough that the world flared with bloody stars as he fell hard.

He brought the sword up, a bright flash in the dark, as the behemoth tackled him, and the blade slid through the man's vitals with a thick, wet sound. It did nothing to stop the weight that crushed down on him and Adam felt his own ribs crack as he tried to free himself.

"Are you dead under there?" Came the question, muffled by the dead meat Adam was buried under. 

"Sorry to disappoint, but no." Adam grunted as the stranger helped him free. He hissed as he tried to stand, then looked around at the bloody chaos that surrounded them. "So, that's all of them, then?"

"We need to dispose of the bodies before Killbane comes looking for them. " The man said flatly. "This is your fault for bringing them here, so you'd best get to carrying."

"You.. wouldn't happen to be Angel de la Muerte, would you?" Adam quipped weakly, vision swimming as he tried to drag a body towards the canal. "If so. If so.. I was.." He paused, hand coming away soaked in blood as he touched his shoulder. "Bloody hell, i think i'm going to.."

Whatever else he was going to say was lost as he fell, face first, onto the dead man at his feet.


	6. The Angel's Salomon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is blood, flirting, and whiskey.

Adam woke with the sharp punch of vinegar under his nose, eyes watering from the pungent scent and from the burning pain in his shoulder and ribs. "Bloody hell." He rasped, a strong hand keeping him still on a hard cot.

"I pulled the ball free while you were fainted, you fool bastard." The man said, and Adam focused on him instead. "Wrapped your ribs as best I could." His skin was a deeper, warmer brown than Adam's own, with a lion's golden eyes. His nose had clearly been broken so many times it sat oddly blunt on his face, slightly askew, but he was still broadly handsome - something which Adam blurted out, one hand resting on the one splayed on his chest. 

"I don't have any laudanum, I'm afraid. You're obviously mad with pain." He said, extricating himself from "Your injuries from tonight aren't the only ones you're carrying. Care for some whiskey?"

"M'fine, but I won't say no to a shot." Adam slowly sat up, back against the cold plaster wall. "This used to be the vicar's rooms, I take it.. Mister de la Muerte?"

"Angel is fine." He rumbled, pouring out a few fingers of heat in a glass. "And you have me at disadvantage."

"Adam Smith. It's as good a name as any. Lady Kensington... said you might be.." he winced, ribs aching as he downed the liquor. "Amenable to assisting us in destroying Phillipe Loren and his associates."

"Kensington and her network." Angel sighed. "What makes her think you will be any more successful in getting me to help her mad campaign?"

"She said you'd been broken." Adam gingerly drew up a knee and rested his arm on it, watching Angel in the light from the fireplace. "By Loren?" He watched he burly man bristle, then sag. "No. By someone else. Someone you cared about. You mentioned a Killbane, I think, before everything went a bit grey."

"What do you know of it?" Angel took a gulp of whiskey and sat back in a rickety old chair. His clothes were shabby, but Adam recognised the cut of a good tailor's when he saw one. "Prancing little crow bringing trouble to my doorstep. I should have let you die out there."

"But you didn't." Adam crept forward on the cot, long black hair curling down his back. It had come untied at some point during the fight and he raked it back from his eyes, watching the minute expressions shift on Angel's serious face. "You're no murderer."

"Edward Pryor, Lord Killbane." Angel said, some garbled emotion in his voice. "He brought me here, raised me as..." he regarded the glass. "A successor, perhaps. Or a pet. A toy to be broken and discarded. His men leave me be if I stick to the station he has gifted me with." There was a sharp crack as the crystal snapped in his grasp. "I met Loren a number of times at his parties." Angel added, brushing the broken glass from his hand. "Your turn, Mister Smith."

"Loren kidnapped my friends and I. He killed my dearest companion, and he's going to turn my city... Stilwater.. into a war zone - after I fought to bring it some small bit of peace." Adam pushed himself off the bed. One step and his trembling legs gave out, but Angel caught him and eased them both to the threadbare carpet. "My thanks." Adam said softly against Angel's jaw. 

"You're an idiot." Angel muttered, not making a move to stand just yet. "They are powerful men with powerful friends. As high up as you can possibly imagine. And you... you're a..."

"A gentleman bandit and man-about-town." Adam shifted, sitting in Angel's lap, watching his reactions. "My friends may be less powerful, but I guarantee... Angel... that once my jaws latch onto my prey, I never.. ever... let go before it's over."

"And am I your prey, Adam Smith?" Angel caught Adam's wrist, the hand having moved to touch the big man's face. 

They sat there in the crackling firelight for a long moment, breath rough. Then Adam grinned brightly and pushed away, shaking his wrist free. "I would make use of your strength and your knowledge, Angel." He said, prodding the bloody bandage at his shoulder with a scowl. "Anything else would be at your pleasure. But make no mistake, I will end the lot of them with or without your help."

"You're serious." Angel stood, eyes dark. "You're going to go against Loren's Syndicate."

"You're bloody well right I am." Adam lifted his chin. "I only ask that you help me choose my targets."

"You're a fool and a madman." Angel shook his head, then took Adam's glass to refill it. Instead of handing it back, he drained it, then refilled it to offer it to the highwayman. "And I'm going to regret this. But fine. I'll help you in what capacity I can."

Adam lifted the glass with a smile. "To new friends, then."


	7. Interlude: The Cold Pig Avoided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adam has a few, but not many, concerns

He knew, thanks to long and unfortunate practice, that the ribs would be largely healed by the morning and the shoulder within a day or so after that. The signs of the beating Loren's accomplices had laid upon him were almost gone. In happier days, he had made light of it with his Saints, that he'd hardly been injured in their many escapades and laughing that God protected both fools and rogues - hiding the broken bones and bleeding wounds until he could find the safety of his rooms.

But there had been no hiding what they had done to him in Sister Shaundi's presence. His only saving grace there was that she'd become focused on the greater evil done to Johnny, rather than his own swiftly-healing damage.

He had been driven out before - for his strange eyes, and the stranger capacities of his body. Driven out and worse. And that experience told him he needed to wake up, get up from the warmth he was currently burrowed in, and drag himself out into the cold, back to the safety of the garrett Aurelio had left in his care.

But he was wrapped in a rough blanket, and strong arms were about him, holding him fast. As momentary panic subsided, replaced with harsh review, he sighed. He'd gotten careless, emboldened by whiskey and the scent of de la Muerte's skin. Agreed to stay the night, and now, his plan, his vengeance against Loren's Syndicate, could all be undone by his shameless nature.

"You were shivering." Angel's rough voice was in his ear. "I am not so cruel as to allow an injured soul to suffer."

(You're barely cruel at all, i think.) The shiver that rippled up Adam's spine this time was hardly from the cold. "I'm grateful for your care, sir." He swallowed. "I would trouble you no further at this time, though." The solid warmth of his chest was absurdly comforting, and Adam cursed himself. "I need to review the resources Lady Kensington has pre.." He trailed off before his fingers could start tracing the scars on the back of Angel's hand. "Please, let me up."

"It's still dark out. Cold. You're wounded and I suspect you hardly know your way around Steeleport." Angel made no move to rise. "Go back to sleep. You're infinitely better company when your lips aren't flapping like a panicked goose." He grumbled. 

"You're not so cruel, but you're exceptionally rude." Adam mocked from his cocoon, looking at the patterns cast by the snow-muffled moon on the plaster wall.

"You wear your hair so long." Angel changed the topic and Adam shivered again as the other man shifted, brushing his cheek against the length of Adam's unruly ponytail. "You seem like you'd be a dandy, all bear grease and pomade, but this.. is clean."

"I like my hair, thankyouverymuch." Adam closed his eyes. "It wouldn't suit me to wear a severe cut like yours, Mister de la Muerte."

"No. I suppose it wouldn't." Angel yawned to Adam's surprise. "This suits you quite well. And it smells lovely." He added in a sleepy voice. A moment later, Adam felt the big man stiffen, and he fought down a snort. "I mean, I think you should confer with Kensington about a place I know Killbane and his ilk frequent. An explorer's club known as Blackpowder."

Adam resisted the urge to tease him, but not the one that gave him cause to cuddle back against his host with a satisfied little smile. "I am benefiting already from our relationship." He said, feeling Angel squirm behind him. "I hope i can return the favour soon."


	8. Lady Gimcrack and the Fancy Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insinuations and reuinions.

Adam tried to focus on the dreadful tea one of Lady Kensington's urchins served him in a dainty cup. The taste was several dirty stockings brewed in the foul waters surrounding Steeleport's collection of filthy islands.

The taste was also preferable to the near-constant clanging of her so-called "calculation engine". She'd attempted to explain it to him but a few seconds in, the terminology had been so incomprehensible, he'd resorted to imagining tiny cherubs buzzing around her head like mosquitos every time she opened her mouth.

"In conclusion, the information Mister de la Muerte gave us should help. I was unaware of this Blackpowder." She said with a pinched face, tugging down her cap against the chill of the room. "I dislike being unaware of things."

He took a biscuit and winced. Kensington still ignored him and he handed a few coins to one of her network and scribbled a note on the back of one of her seemingly inexhaustible sheets of paper. "Bring this to the grocer and the baker and pay them not one penny more than i've indicated here. Can you read?" He asked softly while the Lady and her fat, illusory cherubs continued on. 

The child narrowed their eyes at him. "She does teach us letters and figures, sir, but I've no head for words."

"A is the grocer, B is the Baker. the figures are there." He tapped the sheet. "Hop off now, and have them fill the list."

"Are you hijacking my staff, Mister Smith?" Lady Kensington snapped and he sat back in his rickety seat. 

"Simply doing my part to keep us all functional, milady." Adam set the vile tea back down. "Is this tea or washwater?"

"I should have known frugality would be lost on one such as you." She sniffed. "So, tell me, how did you turn Killbane's former ward to our cause? Did you grind the beef with him? Knock the mutton about?"

"Excuse me?" Adam straightened his stolen cravat. "In truth, Killbane's depredations did that work for us and Angel and I discovered mutual ground. Where would you get the idea, that.."

"Have you perhaps not read the 'True and Accurate Accounts of the Stilwater Saint' penned by your companion, Pierce Washington, Esquire?" She plucked a slim volume from amidst her ledger sheets.

Adam blanched. "I... admit I have not. But Pierce assured me that..."

"The young captain shielded the maiden with his own body, as sleek and lean as a hunting dog. She was ripe as a fresh peach. 'You will not get away with our murder, fiend.' He said. 'But, no,' The Saint replied. ''Tis not your murder i seek, for if the world were to lose such beauty in it 'twould be a poorer place. But you both inflame my heart such that I cannot bear it, and I must have you both.' " She read in a monotone, peering up over the edge of the book with a bland look. "The books make it sound as if you have a particular habit of ravishing your victims."

"I will admit to having the occasional relation with one of my impromptu relations, but it was never under coercion, and always at their instigation." Adam folded his arms, offended. "Apparently I have something of a reputation, and there are those of a certain behaviour where sharing relations with me are a badge of honour." He squared his shoulders, and cast a cold glance in her direction. "As it should be."

"You call him Angel. That's a bit familiar, isn't it?" Lady Kensington set the book down. Adam watched as another urchin seemingly materialised out of nowhere at her side. He couldn't tell any of them apart. They were all a uniform level of tattered filth - which, in retrospect, was amazing camouflage, he realised. "Oh good." She smiled and handed the child a penny. "Your friends have arrived. I sent word through the network to have them brought here upon their return."

Adam went to look out the nearby window, at the carriages pulling up in front of the old factory as the snow fell harder. They were anonymous, except for the subtle touches of gold and purple here and there, and he grinned, excusing himself from the Lady and bounding down the stairs to meet his companions.

Sister Shaundi stepped out, her stolen garments from the weeks before replaced by her more usual garb - breeches and boots and a long purple cape trimmed in marten fur. "Boss, you're here." She rushed towards him, cupping his face in her gloved hands. "I had feared the worst when we were intercepted by those children.

"Lady Kensington's... network." Adam clasped her hands. "I'm glad you're back."

"And we brought your hunting gear." Pierce said as he stepped out of the carriage as well. "Along with a few other presents." The collar of his heavy grey coat was turned up against the cold, and he tugged his hat down as the embraced. "I'm sorry about Johnny." He whispered and Adam nodded.

"Pierce." He squeezed Pierce one last time then released him. "Stilwater?"

"We called on some old friends to give aid to or Sheriff. They're ferreting out Loren's turncoats in the constabulary." Pierce gestured to some men and women lifting crates out the carts. "I've spared what I could to aid you here." One of them handed him a large valise, and Pierce presented it to Adam with a grin. "Your gear, Boss?"

"God bless you, Mister Washington." Adam took the bag with a nod. A quick peek inside assured him of it's contents: knifes, pistols, and a set of his own clothes. Deerskin trousers cut specifically for him, tall boots and a fine shirt in the palest jonquil yellow. The woolen coat was a dark aubergine, the buttons with their tiny fleur de lis the only sign that it belonged to a Saint. "Shaundi, Pierce, warm yourselves and prepare."

"What are you planning?" She rubbed her hands together as they strode into the factory.

"I'm a highwayman, Sister. It's time we made Loren's people stand and deliver." Adam slung the bag over his shoulder. "We're going to make this city fly our colours.


	9. The Shoulder-Feast of Johnny Gat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is cooking, and cannonfire.

To say that the Lady Kensington was appalled at the interlopers taking over her decrepit residence was an understatement for the ages.

Not only had Pierce rallied a small number of soldiers who wore the Saints' colours, but a few whose tasks were more mundane, but no less perilous in the chilly pit of Kensington's lair. "Mister Smith!" She stalked over to him as a number of her network began bringing in sacks and parcels, dodging between the gathered Saints. "I meant for this to be a rally point for your people, at which point you could take your leave! Not.. NOT THIS." She pulled her cap down over messy red curls to emphasise her intense frustration.

"The garrett that Sister Shaundi was able to procure for us is barely enough room for two, my Lady." Adam sketched a bow as he fiddled with his cravat. "I swear to you, on my honour, that as soon as I am able to find us a safe location with adequate space, we'll leave you to your ...engine."

"THEY ARE DISRUPTING MY WORK." She flailed, the fringes on her shawl flapping like an agitated pigeon's wings. "And what is wrong with the fare I provided?"

"Barley gruel, ship's biscuit and tea brewed so overmuch that it ceases to have any healthful properties." Adam folded his arms. "You barely sleep and your meals are hardly enough to sustain you, let alone the children in your employ. Frugality in these times has it's place, but allow me to do this."

"Where did you get the money? I doubt any bank in Steeleport would take your notes from Stilwater." She sniffed, the scent of onion soup drifting from the kitchen as Pierce handed out apples to the urchins. "And there's been no news of a flamboyant highwayman accosting the post roads into the city." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Did you commit a more subtle crime?"

"I'd been quite thrown into the freezing sea with nothing but my skin, and Sister Shaundi with scare more." Adam said, watching the bustle. "While she was unconscious, I took care to acquire us clothing and coin. Neither of which will be missed by their former holders." He glanced over at her. "Oh please, don't give me that look."

She squared her shoulders. "You murdered people."

"You knew what I was when you sent your urchins to make contact with me. I am not a good man, my Lady Kensington, and because of that, I will end Loren and his Syndicate as you wished." He growled. "If you'll excuse me, I need to see to the preparations for both dinner and our assault on Blackpowder."

~~

He had learned to cook in a workhouse, making poor, thin gruel and broth for his fellow inmates. The burns the cruel-eyed cook had left on him had long since faded into memories, much as the fellow himself had. 

The Saints were used to him taking a hand in their communal meals, a sight that had been much to the horror of Joshua Birk before their ill-fated adventure, and while Lady Kensington was startled at the sight, none of the others were as he rolled up his sleeves making dumplings of beef suet and flour, studded with caraway seeds, to cook in the soup.

"We do appreciate your hospitality, madam." Pierce said as Shaundi oversaw the children bringing out seeded buns and jam to the makeshift tables. "I hope you don't think to harshly of him for comandeering your... home." He added with an awkward smile.

"I don't know what to make of it at all." She said. "Except that you write exceptionally perverted literature." 

"I can't argue that." Pierce shrugged. "So, you've read my work?"

Kensington stiffened then glanced back at him. "Every single filthy word, Mister Washington." She said with a muffled snort.

~~

The meal was hardly lavish, but Adam lifted his glass as they gathered around the food. "Gat told me of the one meal he missed from his homeland, before he'd been taken and forced out to sea. He called it manduguk -dumplings in broth was all it was. But to him it was a taste of his past. Over the years, he and i tried so many recipes to duplicate it, as some of you are well aware."

"It's a miracle we survived some of those experiments." Shaundi said, trying to force a smile to her face, but tears were streaking through the rouge on her cheeks. "They were awful."

"Eventually, we came upon this." Adam rocked on his feet, cat's eyes distant in the flickering candle light. "He said it tasted nothing at all of the soup his mother made but tasted exactly like it should. It was not the manduguk of his past, he said, but it was the taste of his home in his present."

Shaundi bowed her head, fighting back the sobs as Pierce took her by the shoulder. Kensington looked around as the men and women who had come from Stilwater looked down as one. 

"Eat this, remember our dearest brother. And with it's warmth in our bellies, let us look to finding justice for him." Adam lifted his wine. "To Johnny Gat."

"To Gat." Even the urchins joined in with their weak beers.

They were about to tuck in when the building rocked violently, the air split by a deafening boom. "CANNONFIRE!" Pierce shouted, grabbing Shaundi and Lady Kensington and dragging them away from the windows.

"Fucking hell!" Adam roared, vaulting over the table to a nearby window. A crowd of burly men in dark green greatcoats were gathered in the dark and the snow, reloading a cannon more suited to a battlefield than a city street. "We're under attack!"


	10. FULL TILT AND ALL HOLLOW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Saint... or a devil?

There was a slim window of opportunity, while the villains below reloaded their mortars. "Sister! Evacuate Lady Kensington and the children to the garrett - take over the whole god be damned building if you must." Adam roared, checking the 

"This is my fight as well, Adam!" Shaundi shouted back, letting the children rush past her. "Johnny was like a brother to me!"  
"I AM NOT LEAVING MY MACHINE!" Lady Kensington yelled over Shaundi, and Pierce took them both by the arms.

"Adam~" He started but the highwayman was already nodding. "Understood. Ladies, stop your protestations please. We'll return for the machine. Shaundi, we must retrieve the rest of our weapons in the courtyard below."

"Damn you Pierce." Shaundi hissed, but her complaints were drowned out by the window shattering as Adam launched himself out into the snowy night.

~~

His coat forgotten in the chaos, Adam was a slim, golden shadow in the flickering light from Kensington's manor. The bullets of the green men below sliced through the cold air, missing him to crash against the crumbling walls.

He hit the ground hard, rolling with the impact. One knife - a gift from Gat - flashed out of his boot into one man's throat, and he twisted catching another in the chest and sending him flying. From the building, the other Saints poured out, some to rescue their coaches and the weapons within them and some to back him up.

He didn't want his people there. This was no little brawl like he'd faced at Angel's (gunshot wound and broken ribs) - that had been a minor spot of chaos compared to the well-organised swarm of Killbane's men and their military weaponry. 

Adam could feel the glimflashy red haze creeping into his vision as he waded into the fray. A bullet in one's throat, another's guts steaming out into the snow as fabric and flesh parted under a knife. He could still tell the difference between Saint and foe, but it wouldn't last much longer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pierce and Shaundi take down the men between them and the coaches and he shouted. "PIERCE GOING RED!"

He didn't bother to wait for Pierce's response, a sharp whistle to call back the other Saints, for them to fall back to the carriages and then out into the safety of the pitch dark night. Didn't bother to check that his people had cleared the field. 

Any that remained would pay the price.

At the end of the lane, he saw the shape of a man - tall and wide in the dull glow of the lone streetlight. He a flash of green and carmine pink, standing straight as the flakes fell around him. Adam never lost sight of him as he took one of the enemies' horses, trampling one man then absently shooting another with a rifle he had no memory of retrieving from the field of corpses rapidly growing in the dark.

Torches and lanterns guttered and flared as their holders fell, the cannons abandoned as their tenders died. The highwayman barely noted their passing lost in a haze of blood-red vision and a child's laughter with each death.

Adam's eyes were sensitive to the dark, he could smell their fear and it guided his attacks. Cold and hot spattered his skin and some distant compartment of his mind noted that he was injured, but he didn't care. The prey in the streetlamp's glow was what he wanted to face.

He dug his heels into the horse's flanks, driving it towards the enemy before him. He could see the man's face now, ugly and coarse and haughty under his white wig and high-collared uniform.

Unconcerned by the red-eyed devil soon to be upon him.

The man simply turned away, vanishing into the impenetrable darkness. But he left behind something.

A man in a hooded coat, lying unmoving at the edge of the streetlamp's light. Adam smelled the tang of his puddling blood more than he could see it

And beside him, a coarse iron sphere with a wick guttering wildly in the frosty air.

~~

It was instinct that made him leap from the horse, shooing it away as he grabbed the grenade. Another weapon recognised to rain hell down on his enemies. He lobbed it back towards the remaining knot of men in green. 

Adam rolled to his feet, and watched, laughing, as the nigh suddenly lit up with a flare of orange and screams of his foes lost in the explosion. The streetlamp shattered, and then there was only dark and cold. There was only the smell of gunpowder and blood and the last broken whimpers of the dying.

And the passion drained out him with every flake of dirty snow that lighted on his aching skin. He slowly came back to himself and looked at the carnage he had so gleefully wrought just moments before. "Ah. Fuckin' hell." He rubbed his face with blood-stained hands as he sat down heavily in the snow. "Killbane. That had to have been..." Adam rubbed the back of his neck, shirt torn and filthy. (Kensington said this place was unknown to everyone. How...?)

The soft groan beside him took his attention and Adam felt for the hooded man beside him in the dark, rolling him over. He knew that handsome mouth and that stubbled jaw.

"ANGEL?" He cried, hands quickly finding the seeping hole in the boxer's side. But even as he staunched the wound with what was left of his shirt, a horrible feeling crept into his chest.

He knew how Killbane had found them.


	11. Quirks and Quillets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel has regrets

Angel de la Muerte had not expected to wake up when Killbane's knife had pierced his coat and into his flesh. He had expected to die in the snow, watching a violet-haired berserker tear apart his former master's men, giving them as much care as a violent child looks upon their broken toys.

He had certainly not expected to wake in a bed with a stern, dark man looking down on him, slim novel clutched in his neatly manicured hands. "I'm alive." Angel winced as he touched his side and tried to sit up on the prickly mattress. The room was tiny, cramped and it smelled of musk and paint.

The man set his book down. He wore purple - a muted grey-lilac waistcoat and trousers, and a shirt so pale it was the hue of mist - but he wore extravagant diamonds in his ears and a ring of finely carved gold on his finger. "So you are." He got up, poured himself a cup of tea and then sat back down without offering one to his patient. "Do you comprehend, even a little bit, how incredibly fucking lucky you are?"

"I shouldn't be." Angel grumbled. "I shouldn't be alive."

"Did you sell us out to the Syndicate, Mister de la Muerte?" The man asked with disgust, sipping at his tea. 

"I didn't..." Angel started then flopped back and scrubbed his blunt face with his hands. "Lord Killbane and Loren came to me. Said the whole affair on Loren's ship was ... an unfortunate accident and that they wanted to make amends. Adam... Mister Smith had left behind an address where I could find you all should I wish to join your cause against my.... former associates. They said i could help parley between the two groups and..."

"And you believed that?" The man set his cup down with a clatter. "Sweet god above, you're an idiot."

"I never meant for... any of what followed to happen." Angel sighed. 

"I know." A rough, familiar voice came from the doorway, and both Angel and the man in grey startled. "But what's done is done. Pierce, I need you to assist Lady Kensington with managing the recovery efforts. We need her assistance still."

"But Boss..." Pierce started then silenced as Adam held up his hand.

"Please, Mister Washington." Adam stepped past him, then looked down at Angel just for a moment. Every ounce of the playful rogue who had made himself so at home in the boxers ruined home was gone. "And you. If you can walk, i want you gone." He added coldly, then turned on his heel.

Pierce watched Adam leave, then looked back at Angel. "Shaundi will see you home. I understand it's a church. You should pray then."

"Is he going to kill me?" Angel sat up again, slowly.

"If he was going to kill you, you'd be giblets by now. Pray he forgets about you so you don't face something worse." Pierce said with near-pity before leaving the boxer to his thoughts.

~~

The coach rattled through the crowded, slush-covered streets - the storm of the night before now turned filthy and wet in the dirty streets. "You didn't need to cover my head with a bag." Angel said, wondering if the woman across from him might deign to speak to him this time.

"You gave away our location once, it makes little sense to give you another opportunity." Shaundi sighed, then removed the bag. "We're not far from your home."

"Miss Shaundi.." He began and she shook her head.

"Sister. I'm a woman of the cloth, you know." She said and smirked as she watched him take in her tight, masculine clothes. "I escaped to a convent, then escaped from a convent, in short." She added, twirling a thin dagger in her fingers. "The Boss saved me. He does that, you know. He takes in the strays and the broken and helps them find something a bit greater in themselves."

"I got that sense." Angel dropped his eyes, feeling her displeasure burn on his skin.

"He doesn't like it, when he loses himself to battle. It's a necessity at times, but it shames him, that loss of control." Shaundi said after several minutes where the only sound was the rattle of wheels on the street. "You saw a side of him last night that few do, and live."

"...When killbane brought me here to train me further..." Angel said quietly. "I learned more than boxing and wrestling. He had me learn from masters from Far East - India, China. I learned control. I could..."

"You stay away from him." Shaundi leaned forward, pointing the dagger at him. "You leave him be." She sat back, eyes dark. "Did you lie about Blackpowder, or was that the truth, at least?"

"I swear to you, I never lied to him." Angel's voice rose. "I only... lied to myself, in believing that I still meant something to Killbane. That I had misread the hatred and contempt he had for me. That I had not wasted my life serving a man who..." He dropped his head again. "I was very wrong. And I'm sorry for the men in your service who paid my folly's price."

"I'll make sure to tell him that." Shaundi sniffed as the coach clattered to a halt. "Now get out."


	12. Twelve: Sly Boots and Stolen Sedans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew begins their assault on Blackpowder.

"It's a bit of a risk." Pierce said, scowling through the spyglass at the lavish building across the street. They'd taken a perch on the roof of a series of shops and Shaundi paced irritably. "The place seems well guarded."

Soldiers in the slate and turkey red of the Morningstars paced near the front, and earlier inspection had shown the rear alleyway to be no less heavily guarded. The former nun threw up her hands and grabbed the glass from Pierce's hands. "There's not so many we can't take them. Especially if Kensington's network does their work and sets our distraction in motion."

"We stick to the plan." Adam straightened from his perch on the ledge. "We've seen the chairmen carry straightaway into the foyer, and they're doing brisk trade tonight." There was no humour in his voice, as they were well-used to before a heist.

"But what if another sedan doesn't come?" Shaundi started as one of Lady Kensington's urchins climbed up to meet them.

"Y'd be wrong in that, missus." The child said from their bundle of rags. "Another approaches now. A businessman in the art a'firearms by th' name'o Burton Hale, he is."

"Good." Adam didn't turn, gazing out into the dark with his uncanny eyes. "As soon as it's through, set your fellows to work. Lucky for us, Blackpowder isn't far from an excise office. Must make it easier for the smugglers who supply them to bribe their way in."

"At once, sir." The child was gone before the sentence finished.

"Pierce, Shaundi, be prepared to move. I see our target." Adam straightened his coat, the fine wool singed from the attack on Kensington's crumbling home.

"Boss." Pierce started, then laid his hand on the other man's arm. "ADAM." He was rewarded by a green glare, but didn't flinch. "You can't blame yourself."

"Can't I, mister Washington?" The highwayman tugged his three-cornered hat down, then leapt from the ledge into the darkness below.

~~

The men hauling this particular chaise were clearly unhappy to be trudging through the filthy snow at their master's whim. Their unhappiness was only magnified as the shouts and crash of broken glass drifted from further up the long street.

Across the nation, riots were not uncommon - war and poverty drove people to desperate measures. As Adam landed in the icy muck, the deep purple of his greatcoat snapping around him, he mused on how Stilwater had been when he'd found it. Reducing the hold of the other gangs and bringing new opportunity and prosperity to the city had been a hard road he'd hoofed twice over and paid a long price for. He could only pray that Troy and Benjamin and the others were holding it against the Syndicate's men.

Adam cocked his hat to the chairmen. "Now, lads. You've a bit of a scrape here." He said, gesturing with his gun. "I've no wish to do a pair of stout fellows such as yourselves..." His tone suggested a number of alternatives that drove one of the men utterly brandy-faced. "But, I've got business with that fat cull you're lugging about in that gaudy booby hutch upon your shoulders, so, I pray thee good fellows, to stand aside and deliver?" Adam finished his speech with a polished bow, at which point Pierce and Sister Shaundi appeared besides the men, their pistols at the ready.

"Please do not let my company's pops distress you overmuch. But, I will require of you your livery as well, my good fellows." He added as he porters unceremoniously dropped their litter. All the while, the angry shout within had risen, even has Pierce had quietly wedged he door. 

The transaction was quick as Adam and Pierce handed off their coats to the Sister, and donned the porters'. With a sly grin she flung open the door of the chaise and pointed a gun in the businessman's florid face. "Good evening to you sir." She said sweetly. "So good of you to provide us with company this evening, Mister Hale. I'm sure we're going to have great sport at once."

**Author's Note:**

> Meet the cast
> 
> Adam Smith:  
> A handsome, charismatic highwayman and leader of the Saints. Rumours about Adam’s early days abound, rife with speculation that he’s the illegitimate son of a nobleman or wealthy East India merchant. Other rumours say he’s the son of a princess and a pirate from China. Still others hint that he might not be human at all, rather some changeling left behind by mocking faeries or even a demon.
> 
> What is known for certain: He was recruited into the Saints as a young man by Julius Little, and his skill with blades, guns and his fists meant he quickly rose in the ranks and became a key player in what was later called the “War of Many Colours” that took place between the many criminal groups eking out a living in the corrupt, decaying port city.
> 
> Adam was betrayed by Julius and beaten, blinded and left to rot in the abusive embrace of the Stilwater Royal Hospital for the Insane. Much to Julius’s dismay, he clearly got better. And with the assistance of former compatriot and current Sheriff of Stilwater Troy Bradshaw, he got revenge.
> 
> After another period of violence, the Saints became more of a benign figure - their exploits becoming the fodder for Pierce’s best-selling novels, and those stories of dashing highwaymen drove curious tourists to the city - hoping for a glimpse, or perhaps to be robbed and flirted with in person. (A booming industry has grown up in Stilwater around such events, with a variety of souvenirs available to purchase)
> 
> Angel de la Muerte: Born in Mexico to a prostitute named Catrina, Angel was taken as a boy by Edward Pryor, Lord Killbane, (a ruthless minor nobleman who was there hiding out from certain indescretions committed back home). Killbane made a spectacle of the boy, who even from an early age was a talented pugilist, back in his home city of Steeleport. And while he provided him with a measure of wealth and education, the relationship was cruel and abusive. 
> 
> Eventually, Angel’s serious, honourable demeanour made him far more popular with Killbane’s subordinates, and Pryor had him publicly humiliated and broken. Angel now exists on the fringes of society, scraping together a living in back alley brawls and cockfights.
> 
> Pierce Washington: Growing up as a child in a troupe of traveling performers and a gifted storyteller, he eventually found himself in Stilwater due to an unfortunate series of declining fortune. Dandy, strategist and unapologetic force behind the Stilwater Saints novels, souvenirs, and upcoming London Stage productions. Rumours (mostly generated by Pierce himself) say that Adam saved his life, and the two forged an unbreakable friendship.
> 
> Johnny Gat: Born as a cheonmin in joseon korea, Gat was pressganged by pirates at a young age. He promptly and cheerfully took to a certain level of violence and eventually turned those skills on his former captors, and was later recruited by Julius. One of Adam’s oldest friends, the two are perhaps closer than even brothers. When his beloved wife, a singer and performer, was killed during the Second War of Many Colours, Johnny grew more serious, although his devotion to his closest friend never waned.
> 
> Sister Shaundi: Betrothed in France to a much older and deeply abusive man, Shaundi escaped into a convent. Eventually, she grew bored with a life of religious contemplation, and turned the education she received there into a business procuring contraband for the other nuns. Soon finding herself booted out, Shaundi turned her skills to the larger world and has a knack for knowing people who know people who can get you anything. Gat developed a protective relationship with the young woman when she joined the Saints, and views her as younger sister.
> 
> Oleg Kirrlov: Ostensibly a professor of philosophy and natural history at Reynolds University in Steeleport, there are stories that the giant russian was once a trusted member of the Tsar’s inner circle. Oleg’s wise and calm demeanour hides a man of enormous strength and capacity for violence.
> 
> Kinzie Kensington: the reclusive (and some say mad) daughter of a dissolute poet, Kinzie is a genius with a computational engine of her own design. While she mostly uses the engine to predict outcomes for gambling, and has thus acquired something of a fortune, Kinzie also maintains a veritable army of urchins who keep her quickly apprised of the happenings in Steeleport.
> 
> Zimos: Elderly procurer of loose women, loose men, substances of an illicit nature and all nature of perverted diversions. Known for his ostentatious, out-of-date style.


End file.
